


Knots of Fun

by gotfanfiction



Series: Twitter nonsense [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Come Eating, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Knotting, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:08:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26602708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotfanfiction/pseuds/gotfanfiction
Summary: Geralt didn't speak, but he rarely did when he was like this
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Twitter nonsense [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024782
Comments: 30
Kudos: 430





	Knots of Fun

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey, here with knotting fic for you guys <3
> 
> The person responsible for this knows who they are
> 
> Who else can't believe it took me this long to write this fic lmao

They were camped in the woods, and Jaskier is holding down the fort until Geralt gets back from his hunt. When he does, he's half naked, eyes wide and black, and he's covered in small cuts. Whatever he'd been hunting had done a number on him, and he's snarling and scenting the air.

Jaskier is worried, but not afraid, really, and it wasn't like he hadn't prepared for this, carefully watching Geralt’s face as he'd gotten ready, reading in between the lines of his expression. The Witcher had grabbed more potions than he usually would, and Jaskier waved him off for luck while digging for a bottle wrapped safely in one of his shirts.

He wasn't expecting Geralt to be quite so far gone, and he knew they'd have a miserable morning looking for his clothes wherever they'd ended up in the woods, but he couldn't deny the thrill of excitement shooting through him.

Geralt didn't speak, but he rarely did when he was like this, and Jaskier should have gotten himself undressed, really, he knew better. It was a little chilly, though, the fire all but died out, and at least he was on his bedroll this time, rather than shoved up against a tree, or, on one memorable occasion, half drowned in a swamp.

The Witcher was on him in a moment, hands pulling, tearing, and Jaskier managed to wriggle his trousers down to just under his ass, even with Geralt more or less completely covering him with his own body. It took some clever stretching on his part, but he got Geralt out of his breeches, cock hard and dripping already.

Jaskier had made certain to open himself up earlier, extremely thorough, too much slick, his trousers sticky, but better safe than sorry. It still punched the breath out of him, when Geralt pushed in those first few inches. It always did, even when they'd set the time aside for proper foreplay.

He pulled out, and -this is the part Jaskier was waiting for, he loved it- just shoved his cock the rest of the way in, growling, and he couldn't see Geralt’s face but he didn't need to, knowing his teeth were bared in a snarl. He felt overwhelmed, as always, prick trapped under his belly, a hand wrapped around the bottom of his neck, not squeezing, but there, keeping him in place.

When Geralt was like this he was rougher, less aware of the disparity of strength between the two of them, and Jaskier loved their usual routine, really, he did, but he wasn't some delicate flower requiring absolute care. He could take a little rough handling. 

Geralt knew this, but decades of habitual restraint were difficult to work through, and he was always so very careful not to hurt him. Not that he wanted to be hurt, mind you, but he loved pressing into bruises the morning after a good roll in the hay, and, now, he would have love marks a plenty.

His shirt was rucking up with every thrust, slipping around; Geralt took his hand off his throat just long enough to rip it open, buttons bouncing off, lost forever, making up for the loss by burying his teeth in his neck, his shoulders, Jaskier whole heartedly moaning his approval. It felt like hours later when the best part of the evening began to swell up at the base of Geralt's cock, pressing up against his rim, the Witcher gasping, fingers digging into his hip.

_ Witchers were absolutely lovely, _ Jaskier thought, hands clinging to Geralt’s forearm, as he begged for the knot, Geralt moaning, loud as Jaskier for once, when it popped in, and swelled up proper. Geralt kept grinding his hips through his orgasm, his cock thick against Jaskier’s prostate, and he managed to wriggle a hand down, jerking at himself without any rhythm, desperate to come.

Jaskier's toes curled up in their socks, and he was sobbing as he came, head twisting around for a kiss. He got one, full of teeth, Geralt sucking on his tongue, his hand moving to hold his face where he wanted it. He was still coming, and he would be for a while yet, filling Jaskier with hot spurts of seed. 

Geralt would pull out as soon as he could, would lick the come out of Jaskier until he was weeping and hard again, would suck his cock with four fingers buried inside him, would swallow that as well. 

He was dizzy just thinking about it. He loved these times, and was already looking forward to the next.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on twitter @gotfanfiction


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